Inevitable
by phobo
Summary: He probably could have prevented it. He could have eluded fate and he would have never had to face this demon. But he didn't try, not in the least.


All his life, Stan knew it was inevitable. He never dug that deep to be truly cognitively aware of the situation, but he knew. If you drilled down to his tar-filled center where all his nightmares and twisted thoughts stewed, you'd know.

The idea was comparable to having a family. You cannot predict whether it will be good or bad or if you'll enjoy it much at all. It may grind you down until you have nothing left but the shell of the person you once were, or it may save you from the depths of your despair and give your life real, concrete meaning. Either way, it didn't matter—it was almost inevitable.

At least that's how Stan saw it.

He didn't know when the day would come but he knew it was coming and he was hoping to god that it wouldn't run him over like a tractor-trailer truck.

So he waited.

Waited until tenor slowly developed into a soft baritone.

Waited until they grew taller than the trees they used to climb.

Waited until the peach fuzz on their faces was long enough to shave.

Waited until the universe decided to make the first move.

During his childhood and prepubescence, through all his subconscious prophesying, the time seemed to drag by. Almost like he was asking for it.

But no, never would he have thought that on a normal Friday evening filled with video games, trash talk and mouth-scorching Fireball, the world would start to spin at triple the speed. Never would he have thought that laughing and shoving would turn to caressing and tugging—that mouths would feverishly converge so quickly, that nervous sweat and sticky whiskey spit were the only things on their minds.

He hadn't initiated, of course. He would never. They finished their last game of NBA with one last celebratory weekend shot, as was customary. He didn't think his friend was all that drunk, to be honest. But Stan had said some offhanded comment about how the redhead needed to get a PS4 so he could practice more, or else he'd be kicking his butt forever. The redhead responded with a shove and a giggle and a "Shut up!" that was a few decibels louder than an "inside voice". Naturally, Stan shoved him back, but the push he gave him didn't seem to throw off his balance in the least.

In fact, the boy got closer.

In what felt like a millisecond to Stan, their noses were almost touching and Kyle had him by the flaps of his coat and he noticed that his face almost matched his wild red hair. And for the first time, he noticed, his hair was pretty… nice.

He probably could have prevented it. He could have eluded fate and he would have never had to face this demon.

But he didn't try, not in the least. You could even go as far as to say that he leaned _into_ the kiss in such a desperate fashion that it seemed like he was almost scared it wasn't real.

It would have been gross to anyone else. Both of them tasted like dark liquor and indigestion but neither of them cared. The taste only reminded Stan of how _real_ this all really was, and it thrilled him more than it should have. He would say it was just because he was drunk, but that would be a lie.

He deepened the kiss as much as he could, almost in an effort to mash their lips together until they bruised. Kyle, on the other hand, was more gentle. Every once in a while he'd poke his tongue out and brush it against Stan's mouth. The dark-haired boy wished Kyle knew how crazy it drove him, wished he knew what it suddenly made him want to do, because then maybe he'd stop—or maybe he wouldn't.

Kyle licked the slit between his lips yet again, provoking Stan to part his lips hungrily and plunge his own tongue down the other boy's throat. Kyle made a high pitched sound—one Stan didn't think was possible for him to make, but definitely wasn't opposed to—and gently flicked his tongue against Stan's.

Stan grunted in satisfaction at the feeling of Kyle's tongue sliding tenderly over his. It was funny, really—Kyle had such a domineering personality, you'd have no clue he was such a sweet kisser. Stan thought maybe it was because he didn't have much practice.

Letting himself give in to everything that was Kyle, the dark-haired boy wrapped his arms around his friend, tightly and fully enveloping him. He could practically feel the thin-lipped boy smile into their kiss. The heat radiating off of him was intoxicating, even though they were already both sweaty messes.

Kyle reached up and cradled Stan's face in both hands, letting his long fingers sink into his thick black hair. He slowed his gentle fervor for a brief moment and squinted open his right eye to take a look at Stan's response. Kyle's hands on his face and in his hair didn't slow him down in the least—he moaned against Kyle's mouth and pulled him closer, if it was even possible.

The red-haired boy opened both eyes at the sound of Stan's whining. Seeing his sweet, sweaty face masked with shameless desire was honestly enough to drive anyone mad. He felt himself thinking about things he shouldn't, things he'd never done but would do with Stan if he wanted him to. He sort of wished Stan knew all the things he made him want to do, because then maybe he'd stop—or maybe he wouldn't.

Once he got an eyeful of everything that was Stan, he shut his eyes again and pushed his lips back against soft, fuller ones. Stan didn't seem to notice the hesitance from before—or rather, he chose not to.

Stan's hands trailed down Kyle's back as he silently wished he was touching bare skin instead of a winter jacket. As if they had a mind of their own, Stan felt his hands guide themselves lower and lower until they reached Kyle's hips. The red-haired boy twitched at the touch, but didn't break the kiss.

It made Stan wonder if anyone's ever put their hands on Kyle's hips like that. It made him wonder how many places he's never been touched, which evolved into him wanting to touch all of those places.

So, he did the most natural thing anyone would have done. He pushed closer to Kyle, reached down and gently squeezed his ass, noting how good it felt in his hands. He elicited an aggravated-sounding yelp from Kyle, but it turned into honey-laced moans when Stan licked the top of his mouth.

Stan knew it was getting to the point of no return. He was aware he'd opened Pandora's box by giving into drunk Kyle. He knew he'd have to deal with it later, but he didn't want to spend one night of drunk passion with Kyle and then never speak to him again. If fate truly bound them and they were destined to repeat history, then he would let the universe take control.

But this time, he broke the kiss and released his grip on the red-haired boy.

Looking exhausted and flustered, Kyle went back to that shade of bright red. "Uh…" He didn't dare look Stan in the face, seemingly ashamed of what had transpired.

"Sorry, dude… I'm uh, pretty drunk…" His words slurred slightly and he was looking at his toes but his stance didn't waver.

Stan was almost equally as embarrassed but did his best to look at his best friend. In an attempt to diffuse the tension, he strained, "Yeah man, that was weird."

Kyle slowly lifted his head and the look on his face wasn't short of utter humiliation. Although Stan would forget that frightened stare due to his intoxication, he'd had the sinking feeling that Kyle let out some demons tonight too.

Face falling from forcibly nonchalant to panicked, Stan quickly recovered and stuttered, "Oh um not like _weird_ weird! Like… good weird! Ah dude, don't worry about it, okay?"

Stan was trying to think of more things to say to make the boy smile, but when he looked back up at Kyle he seemed content, if not mildly happy. His cheeks still had a pinkish glow to them, and Stan tried to push the idea out of his brain that it was the most adorable thing he'd ever witnessed.

"Thanks, Stan," Kyle marveled, green eyes shining brighter than Stan had ever noticed. "Uh… is it still cool if I sleep over?" He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, as if he already knew the answer.

Crossing his arms and smiling defiantly, Stan gave a low chuckle. "Dude, of course you can. I'm not gonna let you go home drunk, your bitch mom is gonna kick your ass!"

Kyle's face lit up once again, albeit for a different reason. "Hey asshole, shut up!"

Stan couldn't help but laugh.

Destiny reared its head, and nothing had really changed between them. It was the best-case scenario, really.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise to Stan at all.

If this thing they had—this inevitable thing—was anything like getting married or having a family, Stan hoped it was one of those things where the person saves you from yourself and your demons and skeletons and secrets are ripped away and all you have left is each other.

That outcome, Stan thought, seemed as inevitable as inevitable could be.


End file.
